


Perception of an object costs

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: American Civil War, F/M, Love Confessions, Romance, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8237753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: "These past few months..." redux, another possible outcome.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Our share of night to bear](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228918) by [middlemarch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch). 



“The past few months…you’ve had an effect on me,” he said, any trace of his mercurial humor missing, replaced by solemnity, a shy tenderness at odds with his stern expression.

“I’m not a good man, but I’ve tried to be better…for you,” Jed added. Mary stood as still she could be, trying to decide whether to pull her hand back that he held lightly, until she heard the last few words.

“For me?”

“Yes. You see, don’t you, why, what it is I mean?”

“You are a good man, but if you strive to be better, it should be for yourself, not for anyone else. Not for me,” she said. 

She heard the strain in her own voice but she wasn’t sure if he would. Sometimes Jed was blind, sometimes he struck true without the intention beforehand, the understanding of the consequence. She hadn’t that luxury.

“Why not? Mary? Why shouldn’t it be for you—if that’s the truth?” 

Would he become petulant now? She risked a look in his eyes and saw he was troubled but also confused. He must have thought she would fling herself into his arms or start to faint so he might catch her, the heroine in a romance overcome by any declaration of love, however oblique. He would forget what was inconvenient to remember, but she didn’t.

“Mary, you’re so quiet—have I frightened you? Or, don’t you, don’t you care?” 

She swallowed the sigh she longed to breathe, heard Gustav’s voice soothing her _Liebchen, you are allowed to be wise_ and she missed him so sharply, something she could not confess to the man before her, who was used to being the focus of everyone’s attention; he usually  was the most brilliant man in the room but that was not always what was called for.

“If I cared less, I would say more. Jedediah. Consider… consider what you are saying and to whom. What shall I say to you?”

“The truth, Mary. That’s all I want,” he declared. 

But it wasn’t so, that wasn’t all he wanted. He wanted her heart and soul and even though he had them, had her, he couldn’t see it. He said he wanted the truth but he didn’t want all of it and he didn’t want to be told so, not if she wasn’t teasing or flirting mildly, if she was serious and prepared to tell him.

“You don’t believe me, do you? You think I am acting like a child,” he said, not flatly, so she would be moved to console him, but contemplatively, the intelligent, thoughtful, observant man whom she loved, who could be a fool and a wit, flickering wildly as a flame between the two, or sometimes someone else altogether, reliable and safe, the officer who would not shirk, the friend who was ready to listen, a comfort at any hour.

“I think, I think you forget where we are, who we must be. Must be, even if it is not what we want,” she said. He waited and looked at her, patient now and a little sad even as she saw hope still lighting his beautiful dark eyes. “Even if it is not what I want, what I want so dearly…You are not the only one affected, not the only one who has dreams, you know. But I understand, I know that dreams cannot, rarely, come true, and even the happiness we have may be taken away, quickly. Without any explanation.”

She could tell Jed understood when he lifted her hand to his chest and laid it there a moment, held entirely within his grasp and did not try to pull her towards him in an embrace. He didn’t try to kiss her mouth, though he had been looking at it as he spoke to her, but he placed a soft kiss in her palm and then lowered it, still in his.

“I shouldn’t have spoken. Rather, I shouldn’t have spoken so, not to you,” he said and she didn’t think he meant it was because she was not his wife, although the fear of that lived in her. “I’m selfish, aren’t I? I do as I please, too much, and I don’t think…to please you. What would please you. Which should be what I want most, if I am honest.”

This was closer to the truth, she thought, and the pain of it was halved by the warmth and ruefulness in his voice. She could not resist him or maybe it was her own self she couldn’t resist, her loneliness and the rich, full promise of him.

“What do you truly want? Do you know? I think you do,” she said, lifting her eyes and letting the feeling she carried for him gladly show in her eyes, tired of artifice and concealment, ever if she would regret it later.

“I want to make you happy,” he said.

“Make me happy, then,” she replied softly but without any hesitation.

He touched her lips with a deliberate finger and then, she was in his arms, not suddenly but as if she had always been there and his mouth was upon hers, softly seeking, the heat and intensity of him waking her to the depth and breadth of her love. She remembered the feeling of a beard against her face and the contrast with the taste of her man’s mouth, his tongue licking her, a hand laid against her face. This was not the same, but it was not entirely different. And then it was, as he shifted and became more tender, more fierce, and she clung to him with a desperation she’d never known before. He kissed her mouth and her cheeks and her closed eyelids, his hand stroking her face, the smooth wing of her hair and he made sure not to pull out the pins or loosen the curls. There was a noise in the hallway and he heard it before she did, stepped back while she was still dazed, her body urgent and her heart beating furiously, wanting his to pace her.

“Are you happy now, Mary? Did I succeed?” he asked quietly. It seemed to be that was what mattered to him now, not his own desire or longing or frustration, but only her response.

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t understand happiness anymore. Or maybe this is what it is, to get what you want and know you can’t keep it,” she replied.

“Then, I must find a way to fix that, the better man I mean to be. So you may keep it. As much as you wish. Then even grief cannot take it away entirely,” he said and it was without arrogance or any shame, any worry that he hurt her alluding to her dead husband, his living wife.

“I would like that, I think. Very much,” she said and he smiled. She wanted to see him grin, that exuberance he had, and even though she knew it would still be cut with guilt and confusion over his marriage and the comprehension of her fear and pain at losing him before she had him, she wanted it. “I would like… to keep you close to me, I want to give you your own happiness back tenfold. Like the nuns pray, “and ever shall be, world without end.” Like that,” she said and she had succeeded. His eyes were very bright and even the startling sound of Anne Hastings’s latest vicious tirade proceeding down the hall did not take the smile from his face, the wonderful joyous charm of it from his expression.

“Like that,” he repeated. It seemed like a vow or at least, she might take it thus.

“I shouldn’t like to be interrupted by Nurse Hastings, though, should you? I think we may speak again, tomorrow, or perhaps there will be time to walk in the garden one evening if we are lucky. Or you might accompany me on some errands—I hate to have Mr. Diggs fetch and carry, he is so useful here,” she said, turning the mood as best she could. He nodded, taking her meanings, willing to follow and she thought he had changed from what he had been but she only loved him the better for it.

“But I, I will make you an excellent errand boy, d’you think?”

“Within reason. You don’t drop your scalpels very often and you’re strong enough, the parcels shan’t trouble you. I won’t be disappointed, I think.”

“No, you won’t. You won’t be, Mary.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, evidently it wasn't enough for me to write one story about the Season 2 trailer. This is similar but I went a different direction to end up in a largely similar place. I personally think this plays more like the actual show, but whether that is preferable is another matter. The title is from Emily Dickinson. If you are inclined to let me know which you preferred and why in a comment, I would of course be very interested :)


End file.
